THE FIRST RULE

(Ivy)

I made a list of rules at two in the morning, which is a terrible time to make decisions and the perfect time to make threats.

By nine a.m. it was typed, printed, and folded in my bag. Rule one through rule nine. I even bolded the important ones.

I met East at a corner table in the library cafe. He was already there, slouched in his chair with two coffees and a smug face. Grey hoodie, hair damp from a shower. It was unfair how good he looked this early.

"You're late," he said.

"I'm four minutes early."

"I've been here ten."

"That's a you problem."

He grinned. I hated how my stomach did a small, stupid flip.

I slapped the printed list on the table. "Read."

East picked it up like it was a restaurant menu. His eyebrows climbed as he scanned.

"Rule one, no kissing unless we agree beforehand." He glanced up. "Agree how? Do we sign something? Do I raise my hand?"

"Keep reading."

"Rule two, no controlling each other's friends. Rule three, no messing with classes or hockey. Rule four, don't call me baby, babe, honey, or any other pet name that makes me gag." He paused. "What if I come up with something original?"

"No."

"Like Sunshine."

"Absolutely not."

"Trouble."

"I'll stab you with this pen."

He laughed, low and real, and my chest did that traitor thing again. I took a big gulp of coffee to hide it. It was black. I normally take oat milk and two sugars.

East slid his own cup toward me. "Try this one."

I looked inside. Oat milk. Two sugars.

"How did you know that?"

He shrugged. "You always get it at the cart outside the rink. Before games."

"You noticed my coffee order?"

"I noticed you're mean until you've had it." He smirked. "It's a public safety issue."

I took the cup. I did not say thank you. I did not blush either, no matter what my face was doing.

"Rule nine," East read, and his smile faded a little. "No pretending the relationship is real in private."

"That's the big one."

"Why?"

"Because it's fake." I held his gaze. "The second we're alone, it stops. No hand holding in the car. No flirting for practice. Out in public, we're a couple. In private, we're coworkers."

"Coworkers."

"With a shared goal."

He set the paper down, and for a second he looked almost disappointed. It flashed across his face and vanished, and I wondered if I'd imagined it.

"Fine," he said. "But I get one rule too."

"Which is?"

"If anything gets weird, you tell me. Don't just disappear on me."

I narrowed my eyes. "That's a feelings rule."

"It's a safety rule."

"Fine." I shook his hand again. He held it a second too long. "Rule ten."

"We're getting a shared calendar, aren't we?"

"Obviously."

"You're terrifying."

"Thank you."

We spent twenty minutes building a color coded schedule on my laptop. He picked blue for his games and then, when I wasn't looking, changed Date One to hot pink.

"It's not hot pink," I said.

"It's rose."

"It's hot pink, Easton."

"Nobody calls me Easton."

"I will if you keep changing my calendar."

He put a hand over his chest, wounded. "Fine. But I'm putting a heart on Date Eight."

"You're not."

"Watch me."

He did. A tiny, ridiculous heart. I almost threw the laptop at him.

Almost.

---

Our first public appearance was that same afternoon, at the busiest coffee shop on campus. Of course it was. East has no concept of a quiet entrance.

"Why here?" I whispered as we walked in.

"Because everybody comes here after practice." He leaned close to my ear. "Smile like you like me."

"I'm trying."

"Try harder. You look like you're being arrested."

I elbowed his ribs. He grunted and laughed, and a couple of girls at the counter turned to stare. East slid a warm hand to the small of my back and steered me toward a booth.

It was supposed to be an act. But his palm was big and steady, and I could feel the heat through my shirt, and my brain went completely blank.

We sat down. He scooted so close our knees touched under the table.

"Personal space," I muttered.

"Rule five was about private. This is public."

"You read the rules?"

"I memorized them. Loopholes are my love language."

I opened my mouth to argue. Then I felt it.

That prickle on the back of my neck. The kind you get when someone is staring.

I looked up.

Dom stood in the doorway with two friends from the team. His smile died halfway across his face.

He took in the scene. Me, laughing. East leaning in with his arm on the back of my chair. My hair pushed behind my ear, because East had just done that and I'd let him.

I watched Dom's face go through three emotions. Shock. Confusion. Fury.

It was beautiful.

"Don't look," East murmured. "Just keep laughing."

"I can't make myself laugh on command."

"Then I'll help."

He pulled out his phone and showed me a video. A hockey player slipped on the ice, spun around three times, and fell into the net, taking the whole goal with him.

I snorted.

"That's the one," East whispered, pleased.

Then Dom was at our table.

"Ivy," he said tightly. "What is this?"

I looked up and smiled. Sweet. Calm. Very dangerous.

"Coffee."

"With him?"

"Wow, you're quick."

"Is this a joke?"

"Why would it be?" I tilted my head. "You told me to find someone better."

His friends shifted behind him, looking everywhere except at us. One of them coughed into his fist.

Dom's face flushed. He looked at East and tried to laugh. It came out wrong.

"Whitaker," he said. "You know she still loves me, right?"

My smile froze.

It's strange, how fast an old wound can open. One sentence from him and I was back on that couch, holding a ruined cake.

But before I could answer, East reached under the table and found my hand.

He laced his fingers through mine. Warm. Solid. Steady.

He didn't look at Dom.

He looked at me. Straight at me, like I was the only person in the room.

"Then you should be worried," East said softly, "about how fast she's getting over you."

My heart did something dangerous.

Dom stood there, speechless. His jaw worked. Then he spun on his heel and stormed out with his friends scrambling after him.

The coffee shop buzzed with whispers.

I should have pulled my hand away. That was rule five. That was the whole point.

But I didn't.

And neither did he.